


misère game

by 0plus2equals1



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls III
Genre: Blindfolds, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Other, Praise Kink, Teasing, and a further exploration of Rosaria’s Fuckhouse, this started out as pwp and now it has become developing a sense of intimacy mediumburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24435199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0plus2equals1/pseuds/0plus2equals1
Summary: The Ashen One finds a way around Ringfinger Leonhard's standoffishness, but some games necessitate wagers.
Relationships: Ashen One/Ringfinger Leonhard
Comments: 36
Kudos: 100





	1. Chapter 1

The Cathedral of the Deep stank.

Perhaps it was age-old traces of Aldrich’s offal, perhaps it was the overflowing pool of filth the guardian giants were forced to toil in, perhaps it was the wriggling grubs leaking thick liquid down the walls they were pinned to. Perhaps all three. In any case, it wasn’t pleasant, and the cloying incense of Rosaria’s bedchamber did not help. It was too sweet, too overwhelming, like a loving embrace in a muddy grave.

But the Ashen One was used to not smelling very much at all, and so the dizzying onslaught of rot was strangely preferable to nothing. They stared up at Rosaria and wavered, tilting their balance from toe to heel and back again. She was surrounded by musty fabric and an overgrown grub was wrapped around her like a loving pet. She draped her fingers over what may have been its head. Waxy fluid dripped from her hair and slowly seeped over the bed and onto the floor. Her tongueless mouth opened, whispered out a breath of air, and the curve of her chest heaved. How her body could look so robust when her surroundings were so long dead that they had decided to play at being alive again—the Ashen One shook their head and pushed the ridiculous thought away.

They offered up a pale tongue as evidence of their devotion and then turned and strode towards the balcony. They wondered what other Fingers might be taking brief solace within the cathedral and if they would be willing to talk. Heysel made for good company, but she was away more often than not. Creighton responded to _anything_ with a standard “fuck off” and a jab of his axe, and Kirk was _ancient_ , damn close to hollow, and about as prickly as his armor.

That left the one that had recruited them to this misfit covenant in the first place. Leonhard had pursued the Ashen One almost aggressively, pressing cracked invasion orbs into their hands and hinting at treasures held by imprisoned darkwraiths, and he had even offered praise at their success— _brilliant_ , their thoughts echoed in the memory of his voice, _you’re no ordinary undead, come on, give yourself to Rosaria—_ but now that they had actually become a Finger…

They remembered his words from when they had made their first offering to Rosaria: _Like Yellowfinger, you can choose to believe that all Fingers share camaraderie._ _But do not force your romance on the rest of us._ His tone had been dismissive, almost mocking. It had been an abrupt shift in demeanor after their previous interactions in Firelink Shrine and the Ashen One didn’t know what to think. Any friendly face (no matter how heavily masked or wrapped up or rotted away) was such a relief during the unending, horrific toil of survival without death, and to lose even the most tentative connection felt as painful as a real wound.

And, they had to admit, even the tiniest hint of initial praise had them approaching him afterward like a stray dog seeking scraps. That had been why they had ended up joining the covenant after all, in the hopes that he’d have something kind to say to them again, but he had merely preened about himself— _she will be pleased with me for finding her another Finger, but be warned—_ and the remainder of their interactions had been simple, empty—

They were jolted from their musing by the realization that the man was leaning against the wall just a few paces ahead of them, his form mostly hidden by shadow. As they looked him over, his tricorn hat tilted slightly; he must have been considering them back.

The Ashen One had learned that Leonhard approached everything with a veneer of irony, even himself; he let his garb grow grimy enough to show that he didn’t care for its meaning, but never dirtied it so much that one couldn’t see the fine silverwork and gold filigree that clearly revealed his noble background. The Ashen One, however, took what they could get. Their own gear was a mismatched hodgepodge. 

They cleared their throat. “Good day.”

The hat tilted a bit further. “Is it?”

They knew it was rhetorical but the Ashen One clung to the open-endedness of the question. “I think so,” they replied, and they winced at not having a more clever retort. “And I hope the same for you, of course.”

“Mhm. You’ve spent far too much time with that Heysel.” The steel mask atop his face could not emote and his tone was unclear. They wondered if he was amused or annoyed.

“Haven’t seen her in a while, actually,” they said.

He crossed his arms and tapped his fingers against his elbows. “Oh, is that so? Then you’ve grown dumber all on your own?”

A heated confusion flashed up their spine and they fell silent. Surely they hadn’t grown so desperate for interaction that an insult felt the same as a compliment.

Leonhard chuckled and their distress only grew. “No real response even for _that?_ Go on, then,” he said with a nod towards the balcony. “Go back out and pillage for our mistress. I know that you’re good for that, at least. Perhaps afterward you can beg her for a rebirth with a touch more wit.”

As a failure of ash, they had very little pride left to be injured. But this— this was instigation. And it was _confusing_. They felt their hand twitching towards their sword. 

“Oh, don’t be a brute,” Leonhard said with a sigh. “I thought I was talking to the Ashen One, not Creighton. Surely you aren’t _truly_ offended. What worthwhile bond of friendship doesn’t strengthen with the exchange of insults?”

They felt as if their sense was sliding into the Abyss. “Friendship?”

“Come on,” he said with a nod. “Volley back. Entertain me.”

They stared at him.

“I don’t care for your shoes,” they finally said.

He was silent for a long while, but then an undignified snort escaped him. “You’re hopeless,” he said with a dismissive wave.

“I haven’t the knack for wordplay,” they said quickly. “What else entertains you?”

He hummed and shrugged. “Try something and we’ll find out.”

They wavered, thought, and then nearly jumped as they remembered a recent acquisition. They rooted through their pockets and pulled out a deck of cards bound in twine.

They felt a warm flash of delight when he leaned forward from the wall and stared at it with interest. “Where did you manage to find that?”

“Greirat the Thief is a master of his craft,” they replied.

Leonhard leaned back slowly enough that it was obvious he was masking his excitement. “Do you even know how to play?” 

“I remember a few games, I think,” they answered.

“Like what? Old Maid?” he asked dryly.

“War, rummy, solitaire,” they listed. “Baccarat, pinochle, blackjack—”

He waved his hand. “Okay, okay, you’ve proven me wrong. I didn’t realize I was speaking with Lothric’s foremost card game expert. But I don’t care much for war or games dependent entirely upon luck. How about one with a bit of skill?”

“I remember most of the rules of poker,” they said with a shrug.

“Poker,” he echoed thoughtfully. “What shall we wager?”

“I’ve got stray souls to spare,” they replied.

He nodded. “Low stakes for a first round. I can appreciate that, especially since I’m going up against a master of the game.”

The Ashen One cleared their throat. “I’m not— I only barely remember how to play.”

“Such modesty! But I will not lower my guard.” His tone grew sardonic as he stepped away from the wall. “I think you’re hoping that I’ll underestimate you and then you’ll take me for all I have.”

They frowned. “I don’t hope that!”

He tilted his head. “Oh? Then you hope to lose and have me take _you_ for all you have?”

The Ashen One wanted to hold their head in their hands.

* * *

The game went as well as they could have hoped. He had kept up his peculiar back-and-forth, alternating between what seemed like genuine compliments ( _brilliant_ , he had said, _clever, you’ve earned this one_ ) and prying insults ( _were you trying to bluff me or yourself with that hand? Tell me, is there a reason as to why you’ve abandoned your sense this round?_ ) They _did_ lose in the end, and Leonhard was now significantly richer in souls, but they considered the fact that they had spent the time together as some sort of victory.

They approached him again some time later and held up the deck as they kept from sounding too eager. “In the mood for another game?”

He tilted his head back and peered at them through his mask. “Are you willing to up the ante?”

“We’ll play for embers,” they answered. “A fair amount more valuable than souls, wouldn’t you agree?”

“You have enough embers that you’re willing to wager them?” he asked. “Well, haven’t you been a good little pillager. Where have you been invading to have such bountiful success?”

They opened their mouth and then closed it.

“Don’t answer that,” he added. “We’ll wager for secrets another time.”

* * *

The Ashen One won, but only marginally, as the game had been cut short by Heysel arriving and exuberantly greeting them. Leonhard had quickly taken his leave, perhaps to avoid the Xanthous scholar and also perhaps to avoid losing any more embers.

They approached him once more after a long time away and held up the cards. “Care to play?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I’m not opposed.” He gestured towards their gear; while their outfit had become more cohesive, it was dirtied and worn down. “Where have you been? You’re a wreck, though I can’t say the look doesn’t suit you.”

“Farron,” they replied with a sigh. “That damn swamp is even more rotten than in here.”

“I doubt it,” he said flatly. “The Deep revels in filth.”

They shrugged. “Then it shares its tastes with the Abyss. Shall we find a more secluded place to sit?” they asked as they gestured towards the balcony and then the bonfire. “That way, we can play uninterrupted.”

He tilted his head. “I thought you liked Heysel.”

“I do,” they said with a frown. 

He leaned forward. “Oh? You like me better, then?”

They nearly dropped the deck. “I could have earned many more embers last time,” they retorted. “Not my fault you feel the need to flee from her.”

“Defensive!” he replied snidely. “Finally, you bite back. But we won’t play for embers, this time.”

“Secrets, then?” they asked.

“There’d be no point,” he stated. “I do believe I already know yours.”

They tensed and felt a nervous heat flush the back of their neck.

“Come on, then,” he said as he stepped away from the wall. “I know a place safe from prying eyes.”

* * *

“What is it that you want to wager?” the Ashen One asked as they found a comfortable seat upon the floor. The room Leonhard had led them to was secluded, quiet, and a tad musty, but some distant crack in the stonework let in the air from the outside. Given that the place was surrounded by roiling graves, the smell was not improved by the fresher air, but at least here there was an ever-so-slight breeze.

“A favor,” he replied, and he tossed several softly luminous prism stones to the floor. “We’ll split these. Whoever claims all of them in the end gets to request anything of the other.”

“Anything?” they asked.

“Anything,” he repeated.

The Ashen One sat in silence.

“Worried that you’ll lose?” Leonhard asked. “You’re free to refuse such a game. Who knows what I may ask of you if I am the victor.”

“I’ll play,” they replied.

He chuckled. “Of course.”

* * *

The game was nearing its end. Leonhard had a small pile of stones in front of him. The Ashen One held their final one tightly as he distributed the cards.

“Surely you’re not losing on purpose,” he said, and he sounded like he was holding in a laugh. “If you’re so curious about what I’d demand of you, you can just ask.”

“I’m _not_ ,” they retorted. They picked up their cards and frowned at them.

“What, you’re not curious or you’re not losing on purpose?”

They took a deep breath and glowered at their cards.

“Bad hand?” he asked.

“Shut up.”

“You’re _very_ easy to read.”

The Ashen One scowled.

“It’s endearing,” he added.

They nearly choked.

“Don’t forget to buy in,” he said with a laugh.

They pushed their final prism stone into the center. The turns passed and Leonhard revealed more cards from the deck.

“My hand was shit,” they muttered as they tossed it to the ground.

“Goodness,” Leonhard stated as he picked up the final stone. “It seems that I’ve won.” He collected the cards, settled them back into the deck, and secured them with the twine before peering over at the Ashen One. “Now,” he said, his voice low. “Whatever shall I do with you?”

They sat and stared at him, an electric shiver prickling up their spine as he watched them closely.

“I believe that the end result would have been the same if either of us had won,” he said as he stood and approached them, “but I do find it preferable that I’m the one setting the terms.”

The Ashen One shot him a pleading look.

“You’re so desperate for approval,” he stated. “I can’t imagine how disappointed you were to find that our goddess could never praise you no matter how many offerings you bring her. But I can admire your dedication, as you offer them up nonetheless.” He patted them on the head and it would have felt demeaning if not for the strange sincerity that had entered his tone. “It needn’t be an entirely thankless endeavor. You aim to please, and I want a diversion.” He raised his hand and crossed his fingers. “I request that you let me use you. Then, we will both be free again to do as we please. Unless, of course, you choose to lose another game.”

“To let you use me,” they repeated dumbly, the phrase echoing in their thoughts as they flushed with heat.

He patted a gauntleted hand against their cheek. “It’s not a disagreeable proposition, is it? Wouldn’t you like to do as I tell you?”

They inhaled sharply.

He leaned over them. “Well?”

“...I would,” they admitted.

“Brilliant,” he replied. “Hands and knees, then.”

The Ashen One took a deep breath, steadied their trembling hands, and shifted their weight as they turned around.

“Very good,” he said as he began to tug at the straps of their leather and mail armor. “I’m sure you’re glad that you insisted on our seclusion. Otherwise, I might have bent you over the balcony and claimed my victory right there—not that any audience in this place would have the capacity to appreciate such a shameless performance—then again, as I said, the Deep revels in filth.”

The Ashen One squirmed as his fingers dug into the flesh of their hips. Leonhard huffed out a sigh. “You’re in better shape than most of the sorry lot that seeks rebirth, and I’m including myself in that,” he said wryly. He kneaded at the softness of their rear and they shivered.

“I think you’re rather handsome,” they mumbled.

“You don’t know what I look like,” he reprimanded, but then his tone grew more thoughtful. “But of course you would think that. I have you wrapped around my finger, after all.”

The Ashen One wanted to say something in return but they heard the metallic thud of his gauntlet hitting the floor and his hand dipped between their legs. 

“Even as undead sent to ash we are like common beasts,” he said, and it sounded almost like a complaint. His fingertips dragged against them and they bit back a whine. “Beholden to our bodies no matter how far they fester. Are you any better?”

A finger crooked inside them and they bucked against the sudden sensation. His other hand gripped at their hip tightly and a whimper escaped them.

“I think not,” he said as he pulled his hand away and his finger slipped out of them. “But that’s okay. You’re a tamer beast than most. You’ll do as I say, won’t you?” 

They nodded.

“Then stay put,” he stated. “Don’t look back. You can sort out your front half however you wish, but keep this,” he said as he smacked a hand against their rear for emphasis, “right where it is. You’re free to enjoy this, and I think you are already. But I’m the one who won. I’ll be seeking my pleasure, not yours.”

Leonhard took a step back from them and they heard the movement of fabric and what may have been the thud of more armor being placed on the ground. They lowered their elbows and rested their forehead against the coolness of the tile floor.

They _did_ want to look back— to confirm that what they were hearing now was the opening of a vial, and then the wet sound of his hand gliding along his own cock, bringing it to full hardness— but he had asked them not to, after all, and so all there was left to do was to arch their back in a way that they hoped was enticing.

Well, at least it got a reaction. He chuckled and dragged the slicked head along their ass until he was pressing against their entrance and merely holding himself there, the sensation so light that the Ashen One found themselves tilting back and shifting their weight against their knees in an attempt to take him in. 

He plunged into them. The Ashen One cried out. Heat pooled in their belly in spite of (or because of) the sting as he filled them up, and as he shifted his position slightly the drag of his cock against their interior made them moan against the floor.

Leonhard pulled out slowly and then slammed back in. They slid forward and then braced their forearms against the floor as he pulled at their hips and brought them back.

“Good,” he said, and there was a hint of breathiness to his voice. “You’re taking me _very_ well.” 

He quickened his pace. The Ashen One closed their eyes and let the taut heat wash over them as he pounded into them, his breath growing more ragged with the exertion. His hands grabbed and twisted at their sides, then ventured under to press at the give of their stomach, everything bringing them closer and fuller against him until they felt the press of his abdomen against their own back. His pace was relentless as he sought his own release but his cock drove against them in just the right place and they found their own breath becoming staggered as the sensation veered towards overwhelming because he was in them deep and filling them again and again—

A gasp was caught in their throat and they nearly collapsed. A muscle in their calf jumped as if in time with their heartbeat. The heat in their gut burst into an electric shiver and they clenched repeatedly around him.

“Oh, you— you _really_ must— have been desperate,” Leonhard panted as he snapped his hips erratically. “To so enjoy being used like this, filthy fucking thing that you are—”

He let out a low sound through gritted teeth. The Ashen One felt a seeping wet warmth inside them. He paused for a few long moments, hilted fully within them, as he caught his breath. He pulled out slowly and then simply knelt there, perhaps enjoying the view. The Ashen One shivered as they felt the cool air against their wetness.

Once he had sufficiently gathered himself he stood and retrieved his gear. The Ashen One remained in their exposed position, unsure of what to do without direction.

He nudged at their thigh with his boot. "Go on, then. I've taken my prize. You're free to do as you like."

They rolled onto their side and attempted to manage the tangle of their armor and smallclothes around their knees. They heard Leonhard chuckle and his footsteps echoed in the room and the Ashen One huffed because of _course_ he would stroll away as if their exchange hadn't just happened.

As they sorted themselves out they glanced about the room and spotted the twine-wrapped pile. They sighed. Well, at least they still had their deck of cards.


	2. Chapter 2

The Ashen One sat at the bonfire and huffed as they glanced up towards the bed made gauzy with filth where Rosaria lounged. The grub wrapped around her made a sound akin to a hiccup. The Ashen One frowned.

Invasions of late had been rather fruitless. Either less undead were venturing into the places the Ashen One frequented, or they were finding ways to ward off pillaging opportunists before a connection to their world could be made. In either case, the Ashen One had very little to offer to their covenant goddess, and the knowledge of that left an aching guilt at the back of their mind.

Something smacked against their helm and their armor rattled as they jolted with surprise. They twisted around and raised one hand in defense as the other grasped at their blade— surely nothing dared to encroach upon this protected space— 

Leonhard chuckled and pressed his fingers against their forehead. “Goodness, aren’t you on edge,” he said with obvious amusement.

The Ashen One pouted at him and smacked his hand away. Their frown deepened when they noticed a dissipating blue hue around his boots; he had cast Hush just to sneak over and startle them. 

“Why so glum?” he asked. “What’s the matter? I haven’t seen you scurry through here in quite some time, but I don’t remember ever seeing you look quite so distraught.”

The Ashen One pursed their lips as they considered how to answer him. Surely he understood how they were feeling— of the Fingers, he certainly seemed to be the one most fiercely dedicated to the cause, no matter how much he masked it with an air of indifference— 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been _pining_ ,” he said, and it was said in such jest that it circled back around to sounding like actual concern.

 _Right._ Their last interaction had been a card-game induced tryst carefully balanced between being no more than a transaction and a recognition that there was obviously _some_ sort of attraction between them. “No use in pining over a prick,” they sniped back.

“By the Gods, was that a double-entendre?” he asked. “Clever, clever. I’m so proud of you.”

The Ashen One pressed their face into their hands.

“But really,” he asked as he peered down at them with an air of curiosity, “why the look of despair?”

“I haven’t had much luck with invading lately,” they admitted. “So I also haven’t had much in the way of offerings.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” he said as he patted them on the head. “You’re really trying your best, aren’t you?”

“Do shut up,” they grumbled as heat tinged their face.

“Why? I’m being sincere,” he replied. “We Fingers are free to do as we please— but we do all share our dedication. I quite appreciate that your lack of offerings has upset you so. I would even say that my heart has been moved. Here— I believe I hold the solution to your little dry spell.”

He reached into an embroidered satchel and pulled his hand out with a flourish; the Ashen One peered into the singular eye of a black orb.

“Try using this in Farron,” he explained. “Someone of the villainous sort has accrued enough sin to leave this behind. This guarantees that you’ll be able to find them. You put them down and you’ll bring back a wonderful offering while also being hailed as a hero for stopping them. I’d go for such glory myself, but you do look so very sad,” he said, and he sounded as if he was holding back a laugh. “I have a little charity left in me yet. You can have it.”

The Ashen One took the orb and frowned at it.

“And if you need my help beyond that,” Leonhard added, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

* * *

The Ashen One stood by the bonfire with their hands on their knees and they heaved in a few breaths. Ghrus moaned and grumbled outside and the damnable swamp squelched.

“Hail,” Leonhard stated from the corner of the sunken minaret, and the Ashen One’s head swung up to look at him. 

“Why,” they said between inhales, “are you here?”

“Just wanted to check your progress,” he replied with a shrug. “Have you claimed your glory yet?”

“There’s—there’s _five of them,_ ” they spat. “Darkwraiths.” They smeared a hand across their face and glared at the fire. “I need more antidote moss.”

“I have some,” he said lightly. The Ashen One shot him a questioning look. “Did you manage to defeat _any_ of them?” he asked.

“Two,” they answered. “So far.”

“ _Very_ well done.”

“You—did you know it would be like this?” they asked, and they stiffened with a rush of anger. “You set me up to fail just to _gloat_?”

“Again, I’m being sincere,” he replied. “And I set you up, but not to gloat. I set you up to ask for my assistance. Even we Fingers can engage in jolly cooperation from time to time, though for us, it usually incurs a debt for the one being helped.” He paused, tilted his head back, and tapped his fingers against his elbow as he thought. “And like I said. Two down is a job well done. And you’ve proven your dedication to our goddess. Your earnestness has impressed me. I’ve put a little thought into making you my squire. It’s fitting for a knight of my stature to have one, after all.”

The Ashen One leaned forward and looked at him doubtfully. “Your _what?_ ”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I’m still thinking about it. But I thought it might be a position you would appreciate. It’s a much better excuse for you to spend time at my side compared to a game of cards.” A hint of amusement entered his tone. “And you like doing as I tell you, anyway.”

“That’s what this is about?” they asked. “In order to win this—you either want me in your debt or you want me at your beck and call.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I quite like your company,” he stated. “And of course, you could walk away from this endeavor at any time. But we both enjoy these little conceits, don’t we?”

They stared at him for a few long moments. “You’re an absolute bastard,” the Ashen One finally grumbled.

“And you’re smitten,” he replied. “So? What say you?”

They crossed their arms. “I’m no squire of yours just yet. What will the debt be?”

“One that you wouldn’t mind paying,” he answered.

The Ashen One wished their helmet had a visor to close. “We’ll defeat these darkwraiths and I’ll assume the position, then,” they stated flatly.

He clapped his hands together. “You’re _such_ a fast learner.”

* * *

Their ankle twisted in the deep muck of the swamp. One blade bit into another; the deep red glow of a darkwraith’s hand veered too close for comfort. The Ashen One reared back only for another hand to grasp at their ribs. They let gravity take them if only to avoid that clutching hand trying to tear out their heart and the darkwraith nearly fell with them.

An arcane blue glow tore through the air and the darkwraith behind the Ashen One staggered. Leonhard pressed a foot against the back of its skeletal armor and kicked it further forward. The Ashen One rolled out of the way as the darkwraith fell to the muck. They cracked apart the darkwraith’s helm with their blade. With a low, guttural gasp, the first of the three remaining perished.

“On your left,” Leonhard called out, and the Ashen One rolled into a crouch and scooped up a fistful of the sludge as they went. They threw it at the helm of the next attacker; there was no shame in fighting dirty against a darkwraith, but the splatter of swamp across the darkwraith’s face didn’t do much to slow it down.

The Ashen One staggered to their feet and lunged forward, sending their blade directly into the second darkwraith’s bowels. Leonhard took advantage of the fact that the darkwraith was caught upon the steel to send several homing soulmasses directly into its spine.

The Ashen One pulled back their blade and shoved the second darkwraith away, but then took a few long steps to the side with their arm outstretched. They pressed their hand against Leonhard’s chest and pushed him away from the final darkwraith, who had tried to take advantage of the brief pause he needed to cast the sorcery.

The darkwraith swung its sword down and cleaved into the Ashen One’s thigh; with a shout, the Ashen One redirected the momentum of their fall and crashed their shoulder into the darkwraith’s chest. The Ashen One drove their sword deep into the darkwraith’s ribcage and twisted it. The darkwraith retaliated by plunging a red-tinged hand just beneath the Ashen One’s sternum.

A curved blade hooked around the darkwraith’s throat and pulled back. Leonhard’s low sound of exertion was muffled behind his mask as he tugged the crescent-shaped sword through the darkwraith’s neck.

The final darkwraith slumped into the swamp and rattled one last breath through a sliced throat. Leonhard stood over it and watched as the corpse sank into the sludge.

The Ashen One gulped down estus and sheathed their sword.

“We’re a right mess, aren’t we?” Leonhard asked as he gestured towards their gunk-covered gear and then towards his own, which had taken an unfortunate dip into the swamp when the Ashen One had pushed him out of the way. “But we are victorious. Let’s gather our spoils.”

Three tongues and a few cracked red eye orbs later, they returned to the bonfire within the sunken minaret. Leonhard clapped a hand onto the Ashen One’s shoulder and he spoke with a tone that was almost giddy. “She’ll be pleased with you. She really will be. What an offering— and those orbs, to boot.”

“Would you like to give them, as well?” the Ashen One asked. “Five tongues _is_ quite something. But I cannot say they are all _mine_. I can only claim two as truly my own.”

“All yours,” Leonhard insisted. “I only helped.”

“And I owe you for that,” the Ashen One said.

“Indeed you do,” he replied. “I must say, that was _quite_ a show. Whatever you lack in brain you more than make up in brawn. Gods, you practically _tackled_ the damn things to death.” He crossed his arms and his tone veered towards genuine. “And, of course, I quite appreciate you pushing me out of harm’s way. Even though that had me sitting in the swamp.”

The Ashen One huffed out a faint laugh. “A squire has to look out for their knight, after all.”

He tilted his head. “Oh, so you _would_ like that?”

“It seems a little more involved than just a debt paid,” they replied.

“A little more involved than just _using_ you,” he added.

The Ashen One nodded.

“I do think that such base desires deserve base treatment,” Leonhard said as he approached them, “but if you’re asking me for something other than a quick, hard fuck— the most efficient use of our time, and of _you,_ if you will— well, I suppose I can indulge you.”

His gloved hand trailed along the curve of their jaw and his thumb pushed against their bottom lip. He guided them back as he advanced, holding a firm grip upon their chin and pushing as they walked until the Ashen One’s back was against the slightly tilted wall of the room.

“Here’s your first task, then,” he said. “Your valiant efforts have impressed me greatly, but you see— my hands have been dirtied by combat. It’s your duty to clean them up, now, isn’t it?”

This was another conceit— his gloves were no dirtier than usual; phasing back out of whatever world the darkwraiths had been lurking in had also left the grime of their version of the swamp behind. The Ashen One gladly obliged him nonetheless. Their mouth opened and his wrist turned, leather-covered fingertips dragging against their cheek, until two fingers pressed past their lips. The taste of the leather was vaguely acrid and they swallowed. They dropped their gaze as he ducked his head closer, feeling suddenly incapable of matching the blank stare of his metal mask, and they focused instead on what they realized was really rather fine embroidery detailed around his wrist.

They closed their mouth, felt the press of his fingers against their tongue, and lightly sucked.

“Filth cleaning up filth,” he said with a breathy laugh. “This really is a fitting role for you.” He pulled his hand back and saliva smeared along their lips. He wiped the residual wetness off on their cheek and then held his hand there.

The Ashen One tilted their head and dragged their tongue against his thumb.

“All too eager,” he jokingly chastised. He lifted his thigh, nudged their legs apart with his knee, and pressed firmly up against them. The Ashen One let out a soft sound that was muffled by his gloved fingers slipping back into their mouth and pressing so far back they nearly gagged. 

“What else should I put on your to-do list?” he asked as he slowly pulled his hand back. A bit of drool dripped from his glove and smeared against their chin. They realized he wasn’t expecting them to answer him when he plunged his fingers right back in. His thigh ground up against their groin and they squirmed at the sensation. He leaned in close and the Ashen One hazarded a glance upward; they felt a little jolt at actually being able to see the faint glint of his eyes within the shadowed interior of his mask. “I could have you give the same attention to my boots, but I find myself growing a little impatient,” he said as he pushed into their mouth until his knuckles pressed against the corner of their lips and the leather creaked at the creasing.

The Ashen One was certain that their face had gone red. They swallowed back saliva and pushed the flat of their tongue up against his fingers.

He chuckled and removed his hand in order to grasp at their wrist; his thigh dropped back down as he pulled the Ashen One’s hand to his trousers. Their palm was pushed against the growing hardness of his cock and they inhaled sharply.

He relinquished his grip. The Ashen One kept their hand there, gently pushing up against him. Their fingers trailed over the shape of his length and he let out a low, appreciative hum.

The Ashen One cleared their throat. “Right to the sword polishing, then?” they asked.

Leonhard huffed out a singular laugh. “Well, if you insist.” He took a step back to give them room to drop to their knees. As they began unfastening the buttons of his trousers he pressed a finger to their forehead and forced them to look up at him. “You’ll venture no touches further than this,” he stated as he reached down and pulled himself free. “You can hold on to me for balance, if you need, but no…”

“I understand,” they said with a nod, and the relief evident in the set of his shoulders gave them a twinge of affection that sweetened the heat already burning in their belly. “What I see is what I get.”

They kept their gaze fixed upon his mask as they took him into their mouth. They slid their lips down to his base and swept their tongue along the length as they gently sucked. Leonhard let out a sound that was almost choked and he wavered where he stood. The Ashen One did set their hands upon his thighs just to brace themselves; in return, Leonhard put his gloved hand, still wet with spit, atop their head. With a few firm pushes and pulls he encouraged them into a steady rhythm. The Ashen One closed their eyes.

“Well, don’t you look,” he started to say, but he cut himself off with a low sound when the Ashen One glanced back up at him just as their mouth dipped so low that their nose pressed against him. They felt his cock twitch, the weight of it warm and heavy on their tongue.

“You look—” he repeated, “—good. And it feels good, doesn’t it? Having me take your mouth.”

The Ashen One let out a muffled sound of agreement.

“Surely you won’t bring yourself to completion from—from this,” he said, his tone lightly mocking. “Even if you do enjoy being used so.”

The Ashen one dragged their lips back and pulled their mouth from the head of his cock despite a short pull of protest from his hand. They cleared their throat before speaking.

“ ‘S not the point,” they said hoarsely. “I’m taking care of you.”

He fell silent. His hand was a slack weight against their head. They took him back into their mouth and returned to a steady pace. They could see the faint rise and fall of his chest growing more labored, the sound of his breath heavy behind the mask, and as they brought themselves down one last time he gripped at their head and held them there. He bucked up and into their mouth and they tasted salt at the back of their throat. They swallowed on reflex.

Leonhard gently guided their head away and he tucked himself back into his trousers. He stood quietly for a few moments as he steadied himself.

“Let’s go back to a place a little more welcoming,” he said as he gestured towards the dim interior of the sunken minaret, “and you can have your turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for joining me in the leonhard hot summer of 2020 extravaganza and yes there will be more of this because i am in hell


	3. Chapter 3

The flames glistened and flowed through the humid air. Once the golden light dissipated, the Ashen One glanced about Rosaria’s bedchamber and shot Leonhard a questioning look.

“A brief diversion. We’ve yet to offer up our spoils,” he said with a nod towards the massive curtained divan. “And besides,” he added with a muffled laugh, “it’s a bit too much fun to keep you waiting. You look a little distracted, my squire. Do try to focus on your duties.”

They took a deep breath, nodded, and hoped that the room’s dim lighting and the orange cast of the bonfire hid the red on their cheeks.

They approached the goddess together. Leonhard gave the Ashen One’s shoulder a light shove to encourage them to go first. They stepped up to the edge of the bed, knelt, and felt an odd twist of nerves at the fact that Leonhard was watching them so closely.

The sliced-off grayish tongues were accepted as they always were. Rosaria’s faint breathing echoed lightly before the sound was absorbed by the thick, mouldering fabric hanging around the bed. The Ashen One stood, bowed, and then took a few steps back.

Leonhard placed a hand on their shoulder and guided them away. “Go wait all good and patient-like at the balcony. I’ll do my dues and then store those cracked orbs. I’m in charge of doling them out and thus I’m also the only one meant to know where they’re stowed away.”

The Ashen One glanced back at Rosaria, and then to Leonhard. They nodded.

The Ashen One leaned against the balcony and peered down at the murky lower levels of the cathedral. They frowned, lifted their gaze, and stared off towards the criss-crossed arches of the ceiling. They bit their lower lip. Warmth was still steady in their belly and they wanted— they weren’t sure _what_ quite yet, but they knew that they _wanted_. Perhaps a hand _finally_ sliding up their thighs, or perhaps just his leg to rut against again— _desperate_ , they could hear in his teasing cadence— _my squire_ — 

“Copper coin for your thoughts,” a distinctly muffled voice asked from behind them.

The Ashen One jumped. “Ah, Heysel,” they stammered as they looked down and glanced over the grime-spattered Xanthous gear. “Hail and well met.”

“Hail, hail,” she replied. “Is there something interesting on the ceiling?”

“No,” they said with a faint laugh. “I’m just...drifting a bit. Not thinking of much at all.”

“Oh, oh. Is that so?” She leaned forward and her tone grew more concerned. “You’ve not gone hollow, have you?”

“No,” the Ashen One said quickly.

“It doesn’t always happen all at once, you know,” she added. “Trade a few words with Kirk. He’s of a more sympathetic nature than his armor belies. And he’s seen much of the way of things in his advanced age. He even spoke a spot of help to that Creighton when he seemed to be wandering a bit _too_ far.”

They winced as they smiled. “Thank you for the advice, Heysel.”

The large headwrap bobbed as she nodded. “Of course, of course.” She jabbed a thumb back over her shoulder. “Any bets on how much longer he’ll be? I’ve tongues to trade in.”

They opened their mouth to say something but they were interrupted by a loud crash off towards the left. Heysel and the Ashen One both turned to look as Creighton staggered around the corner with his bloodied axe in hand.

“Ah, Cray!” Heysel said cheerily. “I was just talking about you. I guess there _was_ something interesting on the ceiling.”

“Fuck off,” he replied.

“No, no, it’s me, Heysel,” she said as she pointed at her bulbous wrap. “Remember?”

He paused mid-stride and squinted at her through his masked helm.

“Ah, yeah,” he finally said, and a tiny amount of his roiling, angered tension relented. “You.”

“You remember the Ashen One too, right?” Heysel said as she poked at their shoulder.

Creighton squinted again.

“We haven’t really spoken,” the Ashen One admitted.

“On account of being told to fuck off?” Heysel asked.

“...Yes,” the Ashen One replied.

“Take no offense in it,” Heysel said as she patted their shoulder. “Poor Cray doesn’t quite remember who he likes or dislikes most of the time, and he has found that it is generally safer to assume dislike.”

“Don’t call me Cray,” Creighton said flatly.

“Remembering things would be easier if we weren’t all so scattered. I still say we should all meet up once in a while,” Heysel said with a sigh. “Get to know each other a bit. Us fingers brought together, hand in hand. Wouldn’t it be nice?”

Creighton paused, thought it over, shrugged, and gestured towards the bedchamber with his axe. “When’s that one gonna be done with the big girl? I have tongues to drop off.”

“Get in line,” Heysel said as she crossed her arms. “And cor, Cray, don’t call her ’the big girl’ within Leo’s earshot, you’ll get gutted.”

“What’s her name again, then?” he asked exasperatedly.

“Rosaria,” Heysel said. “For the tenth time.”

A sudden thought struck the Ashen One as they glanced back up towards the ceiling. “You came in through the rafters,” they said quietly. “Why not just use…?”

“Ah!” Heysel exclaimed. “Please don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the bonfire.”

“What bonfire,” Creighton said flatly.

They both stared at him in shocked silence.

“Heh, got you,” he said with a slight shake of his shoulders. “Course I remember the bonfire. But the ceiling— there’s a big armored bastard strolling about up there and I feel as if I really do have a reason to hate him. So, sometimes I go up and try to give him a little push.”

Heysel slumped with relief. “Ah, I see, I see. Very stupid! But I see.”

Leonhard approached the group and made a slight sound of disgust. “What an unfortunate little gathering of misfits to have loitering at our Goddess's door. I thought our resident fungus would be gathering spores from the swamp for at least another week.”

“Oh, you’re _done!_ Finally!” Heysel exclaimed. She started digging through her satchel as she dashed over towards the bedchamber.

Leonhard turned towards Creighton and tilted his head back. “And…”

“Fuck off,” Creighton replied.

“I shall,” Leonhard said smugly as he grabbed the Ashen One by the shoulder and steered them towards the bonfire.

* * *

“Lothric?” the Ashen One asked as the world settled once more.

“Mhm,” Leonhard replied with a nod, and he jauntily led the way forward. “I have my summer estate here.”

His ‘summer estate’ was a few interconnected rooms in a long-abandoned building secured with a surprisingly sturdy lock. There wasn’t much in the way of personal effects, but the Ashen One spotted a few signs that he had spent time there before: a few books in a stack, one marked halfway through with a scrap of fabric; what looked like a rather fine set of ceramic plates and cups carefully arranged within an open wooden cabinet; and one major piece of furniture that immediately caught the Ashen One’s attention.

“I found this place as I was investigating that imprisoned Darkwraith,” Leonhard explained as he took a seat on a lumpy but superbly comfortable looking bed. “I doubt the original owner has any sense left to them, so I’m taking care of it, now.” He sniffed. “It could use a good dusting. I haven’t stopped in for some time.”

“This is very special,” the Ashen One said plainly as they looked around with some awe.

“It’s no hovel but it’s no luxurious manse, either,” Leonhard replied flatly.

“I mean it,” they added. “A safe place. That _is_ special. And rare.”

He tilted his head and watched them closely as they glanced around. When they caught his gaze and looked a bit sheepish, he patted one gloved hand against the bed. “Take a seat.”

They did so, sinking into softness and feeling an odd flutter in their gut. To have nerves now, they thought, was rather silly, considering the man had already had them in two different ways. But to sit side by side, fully clothed, on a second-hand bed in a secret, private sanctuary—it was intimate in a way they had truly not expected from him.

“You’re still waiting for your turn,” Leonhard said lowly, and they felt heat flash up their neck.

“That I am,” they replied carefully.

A gloved hand brushed their cheek and dropped to cup their jaw. “What manner of debauchery do you have in mind?” he asked.

“I’m not quite sure,” they replied honestly.

“Need more time to think about it?” he asked with a laugh.

They huffed. “Gods, no.”

“I think you do,” he replied, and he pushed lightly at their chin as if to make them nod in agreement. “Maybe you just need a few more squirely tidying tasks so you can have more time to figure out what it is you want. Like I said, this place needs a good dusting. Or—could _that_ be what you want? To merely have me boss you around for a bit? Ah, look, you’re all flushed! Should I have been scouting you out to be my maid instead?”

“You’re an absolute bastard,” they stammered as they shoved at his shoulder.

He _tsked_. “Now, that’s not right. Not right _at all_. Calling your commanding knight a bastard? How unbecoming of someone that I _thought_ was my dedicated squire.”

They sighed and shook their head, but a grin pulled at their expression. “Leonhard—”

“I’ve half a mind to make you call me _sir_ if this is the insolence I receive otherwise,” he added with affected haughtiness.

“Sir Leonhard, loyal Ringfinger, dutiful knight,” they said in a reverent tone without any hint of mocking as they turned towards him. As ever, the mask could not emote, but there was a sudden stillness to him as they leaned a bit closer.

“...Oh, do go on, I adore the flattery,” he finally said, but the sarcasm sounded strained.

They ventured a hand forward and their fingers drifted just above his thigh without touching him.

“You ask me what I want,” the Ashen One said. “I want you. And I want to know what you want, as well, for I would not want to trespass upon my commanding knight’s boundaries. You’ve made it clear that you have—preferences, I would say, and I would like to be clearly informed of them, so that I may care for you all the better.” They could feel the faint warmth of his thigh as their hand hovered just above him. “So. May I?”

He was silent for long enough that the Ashen One worried that they had made some misstep, but then he tilted his head in a nod. They pressed their hand against his thigh, splaying their fingers against the fabric and feeling the firm muscle beneath.

“I have no qualms with you touching me like this,” he said evenly. “My _preference_ , as you put it—when it comes to anything further—that’s done more on your behalf than mine.”

Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Do you _know_ why I wear this mask?” he asked flatly.

They shook their head. “I needn’t know the reason why,” they said as they slid their hand from knee to hip and back again. “I merely have your comfort in mind.”

His mask tilted in such a way that they wondered if he had rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s— I have to maintain some mystique,” he said dryly. “Once the mystery has gone away, so will your interest.”

The Ashen One frowned at him. “That isn’t true.”

Leonhard went still and fell silent.

“I know it’s important to you,” they added quickly. “And I’d never demand it of you. But it would be nice—just to be able to really touch you, I suppose.”

He let out a terse _hm_.

“You could block my sight, if you’d like. A blindfold or something along those lines. And you could direct my hands to whatever places you wish, whatever places you are comfortable with. But the decision is wholly yours.” Words tumbled from the Ashen One’s mouth in a nervous, uncertain overflow. “I wouldn’t want you to feel—”

He pressed his hand over their lips. “Your earnestness is truly…” he said, and his tone was genuine to the point of strain. He cleared his throat. “It is a pleasant thought,” he added. “To have your blind trust in such a literal sense. And I would—I’d get to see _your_ open-book face as you did it. You _are_ so easy to read.”

The Ashen One stared at him expectantly.

“Stand, then. And disrobe yourself. Then we’ll block your sight with some manner of cloth and…” He trailed off and gestured vaguely.

They quickly and gladly complied. Armor, leather, cloth, and mail were shed and sent to the floor. The air of the room was pleasantly cool on their bare skin. Leonhard nudged a boot through their gear and spotted a suitable sash that had been used to affix some supplies to their belt.

There was tension in his posture but his movements were gentle. He swept their hair back from their temples before wrapping the sash around and tying it.

“Well?” he asked.

“I can see light and dark,” they replied. “Merely shadows moving.”

He hummed in approval and they felt a few flickers of warmth up their spine at the sound.

“Now be patient for just a moment longer,” Leonhard said, and they heard the slight metallic clicks of belt buckles being undone and the shifting of fabric.

They stood still and waited for directions. When they heard the bed frame creak they turned towards the sound.

“You can come over,” Leonhard stated.

They took a few tentative steps forward with their arms outstretched and he snorted when their shins knocked against the bed. “Just—come _here_ ,” he said as he grasped at their wrist and tugged, pulling them onto the uneven mattress. They sank their knees into the cushioning and knelt at what they guessed was his side. One of his hands—bare, they realized with a thrill— remained tight around their wrist, while the other abruptly brushed down against their belly and trailed between their legs. They inhaled sharply. The inability to see and anticipate his movements had heightened their awareness of touch, and the little jolt of surprise that came with every contact had them reeling.

“You _are_ still all wound up,” he stated as a few fingers dragged against them. “Good.” 

A sound escaped them, sudden and needy, when he gave them a few lightly teasing strokes before pulling his hand away. They heard a noise from him in return that sounded like a sigh. The hand still gripping at their wrist stayed stiffly still for a few long moments, but with one decisive movement, their palm was yanked forward and pressed flat against his chest.

They blinked beneath the fabric. His skin was warm. They spread their fingers gently and furrowed their eyebrows when they brushed against scarred whorls and ridges. 

His nails dug against their wrist and their hand was pulled higher. Their thumb dragged against a smoother expanse, a stretch of skin that hadn’t been burned, and as they recognized the hard curve of his collarbone the texture returned to rough scarring. 

They slowly swept their thumb back and forth in a gentle motion. There was no pity or disgust in their expression; merely a singular focus as they pressed their fingertips to his chest. In truth, they had expected _some_ issue to be hidden beneath the careful layers of his protective garb— his behavior had always hinted at such. And while they wouldn’t begrudge him his trepidation, they had grown rather numb to all the myriad horrors inflicted upon flesh that the world had to offer. But they could intuit that this held some great personal importance for him, and so they considered their reactions with care.

They could feel the subtle swell and fall of his breathing beneath their palm. They leaned in a bit closer, their expression pensive. He tugged at their wrist once more, less harshly this time, and their hand was brought up to cup his cheek.

The damage was severe. Their fingers pressed against striated skin, then a scarred-over lesion that crossed against his cheekbone, then a tiny island of unburnt smoothness near his temple surrounded by a ragged flow of flesh.

The grip on their wrist relented, but the Ashen One kept their hand against his face. They lightly stroked their fingertips against the scarring and remained silent. The look of careful concentration upon their face made it seem as if they were trying to memorize each crest and divot of his skin.

His hand grabbed at the back of their head and Leonhard pulled them in close, bringing his mouth firmly against theirs— that, too, was burned, they realized— and his lips parted. With a slight sound of surprise, they kissed him back. One arm grasped at their shoulder and the other one gripped at their hip as he guided them onto his lap. The Ashen One gasped against his mouth when his fingers dug into their rear and he bit at their bottom lip.

“Thank you,” they breathed, and their hand slid from his cheek to his jaw as they rolled their hips against him. “Please—”

He had been uncharacteristically silent during their explorations— he had been too busy watching their every reaction, they figured— and to hear his voice again now sent warmth pooling in their gut. “You really are no ordinary undead,” he said, and his tone was nearing a growl with want. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you.” His hands grasped at them, pulled them closer, and his head dipped down as he briefly dug his teeth into their shoulder. “Oh, Ashen One, unkindled that you are— all things considered, you’ve been burned rather badly yourself.”

They bucked against him when he reached down to cup their groin, needy and hot against his palm, and they heard a clattering on the table beside the bed as he reached for something. There was a familiar little pop and a wet sound and then a slick finger was inside them, sending a bolt of heat up their spine. They let out a low moan when another plunged in and worked at them, the stretch of it sweet but leaving them hungry for more. They pushed their lips against his and shifted their weight on their knees.

He kissed them again with enough fierceness that their teeth clicked against each other, and the Ashen One reached down to guide him in. It was a fumbling effort given the blindfold, but once they were sinking down upon him, filling themself with his cock, the overwhelming sensation made them cry out. Leonhard placed an attentive hand between their legs and then thrust up into them. The growing heat was wound so tightly within their core that it was already nearly too much.

“Please— _please—_ ” The Ashen One begged as they rolled their hips and they weren’t even sure what they were asking for, but their desperation made Leonhard swear appreciatively and redouble his efforts. They could feel the drag of him against their interior, hear the repeated wet impacts he made against them, and their breath caught in their throat when he grabbed at their hand again and redirected it to press flat against his chest. They steadied themself against him and rocked their hips with a growing fervor.

The Ashen One was briefly disoriented when he sat up and grabbed at their shoulders before flipping them onto their back. They barely had time to bounce against the mattress before he was upon them, grasping at their sides and slamming back in. 

A tingling wave washed over them and then the rest came in one tidal overflow— they cried out and held onto Leonhard’s shoulders as they shivered with orgasm and he kept up his brutal pace. The sharp heat between their legs didn’t relent and their spread-wide thighs twitched with the overstimulation.

Leonhard let out a low, halting gasp as he pulled back, and the Ashen One felt wet warmth splash their gut. They blinked against the blindfold and tried to catch their breath; it sounded as if Leonhard was doing the same.

The weight on the mattress shifted and they heard rustling movement. An abrupt touch to their stomach startled them but Leonhard was just tidying them with some scrap of a rag. Their limbs felt as if they had turned to jelly and so they laid still, awash in a pleasant warmth, as he busied himself with _something—_ they heard fabric shifting and the creak of leather.

A hand tugged at the blindfold and they squinted as they readjusted to the light. Leonhard was masked, scarved, and his gloves covered the bulk of his forearm, but otherwise, he had only put on a set of loosely-fitted undergarments. The Ashen One caught a blurred glimpse of mottled redness beneath the shirt’s hem but they brought their gaze up to focus upon the mask.

“I think,” Leonhard said as he finished lacing up the neck of the undershirt, “it would be entirely too indulgent to lie about together after such an exchange.”

“Indulgent?” the Ashen One asked.

He made a noncommittal _hm_.

“We Fingers are free to do as we please,” the Ashen One quoted, “and so I think you are free to be as indulgent as you like.” They paused. “And I do _not_ think I am yet capable of hauling myself from this bed.”

He crossed his arms, peered down at them, and then tutted. “You’re dangerous,” he said as he took a seat beside them. “Some silver-tongued squire I have found. I have things to do other than you, you know.”

They snorted and weakly managed to sit up. “I do know, dutiful knight. Just a brief time to recover is all I ask.”

“Let me get my hourglass,” he replied dryly, but he made no move to get up from the bed.

After a few long moments of comfortable quiet, the Ashen One leaned over and pressed their lips to the flat metal side of his mask.

“Oh, disgusting, don’t do that,” Leonhard insisted in mock affront. “You act all sweet and you’ll turn my stomach.”

They grinned and he jokingly shoved at their shoulder. The Ashen One only laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed this next installment in leonhard hot summer 2020  
> also you can hmu on twitter @wouldwebealive

**Author's Note:**

> A misère game is a game played to lose.
> 
> Thanks for reading and hope you enjoyed!


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